


Over Easy

by level3puckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/level3puckbunny/pseuds/level3puckbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Game 2 of the ECQF, both Sean Couturier and Claude Giroux had hat tricks. This is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Easy

**Author's Note:**

> So a few things:  
> 1) Brayden Schenn lives with Claude Giroux.  
> 2) Sean Couturier lives with Danny Briere.  
> 3) Claude Giroux has a propensity for wearing interestingly colored pastel dress shirts.  
> 4) Our rookies are awesome.

Part One

Sean Couturier and Brayden Schenn

 

            Brayden Schenn was not good at waiting. He was a hockey player, after all, a twenty-year-old hockey player, and even in the confines of a game he was bad at waiting.

            When “waiting” meant “waiting the whole plane ride back from Pittsburgh to jump his boyfriend after said boyfriend scored his first ever NHL hat trick against the Penguins in the playoffs,” it was almost impossible.

            To make things worse, Sean kept _looking_ at him, a shy, sweet expression on his face, like he was seeking Brayden’s approval. Brayden kept his face completely set during these brief exchanges, because the last thing he wanted to do was let his emotions show on his face and inadvertently come out to the whole team.

            They were walking back out to the parking lot after having gotten off the plane when Brayden walked up behind Sean and grabbed his elbow.

            “Do you have a car?” Sean nodded, not looking over at Brayden. “Are the boys at Danny’s?”

            “No,” Sean breathed. Brayden half-dragged Sean over to Sean’s ratty old Jeep and they got inside, ignoring the pointed looks from a couple of their teammates.

            “Drive,” Brayden said, and Sean complied.

            He held it together through the drive out to Haddonfield, through Sean parking the car and them getting out and going into the house, and through making their way to Sean’s bedroom. They stepped in, Sean closed the door, and Brayden lost it.

            “You motherfucking jackass!” he hissed, and Sean looked at him, confused.

            “What?”

            “You—you-” Brayden backed Sean into the wall and before Sean could protest kissed him fiercely, with a lot of tongue, leaving no doubt as to where this was headed. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to skate with a fucking boner?” he resumed berating Sean, and Sean looked like he didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or lunge for Brayden’s zipper. Brayden solved the problem for him by crushing their mouths together again, his own hands fumbling with the fly on Sean’s pants.

            “Fuck, Brayden, you’re not helping,” Sean said, detaching his mouth from Brayden’s and brushing Brayden’s hands away.

            “I have had a hard-on since you scored that second goal,” Brayden groaned as Sean started to industriously strip. “And when you were making Malkin your bitch like that? Fuck, Sean, I think Simmer thought I had hemorrhoids or something from the way I kept shifting around on the bench.” Sean paused in his undressing to give Brayden a vaguely disturbed look.

            “Never use the word ‘hemorrhoids’ when we’re about to hook up again.”

            “It’s not like I _actually--_ ” Sean held up his hand with a glare.

            “I will make you leave.” Brayden shut up. He wasn’t sure if Sean was serious, but didn’t want to risk it.

            “Get naked then,” he said, and Sean laughed as he toed off his shoes. His shirt was already lying on the floor.

            “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

            “Well, get naked _faster_ ,” Brayden said, a hint of petulancy in his tone, and that only made Sean’s grin widen. He did hurry up, though, so Brayden couldn’t be that annoyed with him.

            “Um, Brayden?”

            “Yeah?” Brayden asked breathlessly, appreciating the way the muscles in Sean’s chest shifted as he moved. He wanted to lick him. Right there. And there. And-

            “For this to happen, you should probably get naked too, eh?” _Oh. Right_.

            “You were born in America, how is it that you say ‘eh’ more than I do?” Brayden asked as he obligingly began to take off his clothes. Sean just gave him the finger in response, which made Brayden grin happily. A slightly piqued Sean was the sexiest Sean. Finally, Brayden had divested himself of all his clothes, and Sean nodded appreciatively.

            “I always forget how good you look naked.”

            “You see me naked all the fucking time.” Sean stretched out a hand and ran it down Brayden’s side, fingertips barely brushing the pale skin, and Brayden got goosebumps.

            “Not when I can _look_.” Brayden understood. He and Sean shared a locker room, sure, but when did they actually get to stand there and ogle each other? Virtually never. Sean stepped forward, one hand sliding around Brayden’s back, the other tangling in his hair. “Or, you know, touch.” He kissed Brayden, gentler than before, but still with a distinct undertone of something that halfway scared Brayden shitless and halfway made him want Sean’s dick really really bad. The latter was ruling right now, though, and Brayden broke away from Sean only to half-dive on top of the bed, sprawling out on his back propped up on his elbows.

            “Then let’s do some touching, okay?” he said teasingly, and Sean rolled his eyes.

            “Special touching?” he kidded as he reached into his nightstand to produce lube and a condom.

            “Well, Sean, when a boy likes a boy very much…” Sean reached over and grabbed Brayden’s dick, stroking it once, and Brayden trailed off on a faint moan. There was just something about the way Sean handled his dick, whether it was the grip or the speed or the attitude or just the rough skin of his huge hands, that sent Brayden almost instantly into the stratosphere. “C’mon, Sean…” Brayden said, fully aware that he was whining a bit and then deciding to not care. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

            “And you’ve been so _good_ ,” Sean said mockingly as he opened the lube and poured some into his palm. He wrapped his hand around Brayden again and started to stroke him, slowly, and Brayden nearly came out of his skin. Sean was going too slow for it to lead to anything other than a nasty case of blue balls, and it was driving Brayden even crazier than he’d been already.

            “Fuck—you Frenchy asshole, fuck you—go die in a fucking fire, you complete _dickhead-_ ” Sean laughed, pulling his hand back, and Brayden nearly hit him until he realized that it was to pour more lube onto Sean’s fingers.

            “Frenchy asshole? Not very creative, Brayden.”

            “Screw you, you wouldn’t be creative with your insults with my hand on your dick either,” Brayden snapped back as he got up and rolled over, getting up on his hands and knees. He had a moment of warning as Sean put his hand on Brayden’s lower back, before he slid a finger of the other one inside him. The process was still pretty new for each of them, and Sean was fairly hesitant, but eventually he got up to three and Brayden was breathing heavily, swearing under his breath.

            “Okay?” Sean asked nervously. “Is that…okay?”

            “Just stick it in already,” Brayden gasped, and he heard Sean laugh as he withdrew his fingers and put the condom on.

            “Okay, okay, I’ll stick it in already.” And then he _was_ , sticking it in that is, and Brayden was gasping at the stretch but simultaneously begging, _demanding_ for Sean not to stop, because he was fairly sure if Sean stopped now he was just going to up and die. And once it was in, well, Brayden knew from experience that was the hard part (no pun intended) because Sean’s cock seemed to have some kind of secret prostate-finding sensor that always left Brayden screaming his orgasm into a pillow by the time they were done.

            Tonight was no different.

 

Part Two

Danny Briere and Claude Giroux

 

            Danny Briere was good at waiting. He was a hockey player, after all, a thirty-four-year-old hockey player, and even within the confines of a game he was good at waiting.

            So by the time Claude Giroux scored an empty-net goal to ice a Flyers playoff victory over the Penguins, he wasn’t impatient at all. He had just quietly, calmly made a decision.

            He waited through the postgame pressers, through the bus ride to the airport, and through the flight back to Philadelphia. It was only after the plane touched down that he caught up with Claude in the parking lot and tapped him on the shoulder as he was loading his bag into the trunk of his car.

            “Can I talk to you?” Claude looked down at Danny, his brows knit at Danny’s serious tone.

            “Sure. What’s up?” Danny glanced around. Half the team was within earshot as they all got into their own cars to go home. He saw Sean and Brayden walking through the parking lot together, and figured that they were probably going out drinking and Sean would spend the night in Philly at Claude’s apartment with Brayden. Those two really were joined at the hip, he mused, before turning back to the matter at hand.

            “Not here,” he said finally. “Can I meet you at my house?” Claude nodded, his frown deepening.

            “Is everything okay, Danny?”

            “Everything’s fine,” Danny said resolutely. “Absolutely fine.”

            Sean’s Jeep was in the driveway when Danny pulled in, as was Claude’s car. Danny must have driven Sean to the airport, he couldn’t remember. Claude himself was sitting on Danny’s doorstep waiting for him.

            “You could have let yourself in,” Danny said as he unlocked the door and showed Claude inside. “You have a key.” Claude shrugged, his face looking a little anxious, and Danny realized Claude wasn’t entirely sure if Danny was angry with him. The mere thought was upsetting. “I’m not mad at you, Claude.”

            “Then…” Claude gestured aimlessly in the air. “Then what’s up?” Danny looked down at the carpeting, his hands clasped behind his back, trying to figure out how to best say this. He’d been thinking of it since the puck went into the empty net but still hadn’t decided what the best wording was.

            “When I asked you to live with me,” he said, his voice notably unsure even though he was speaking French, which usually led to more self-confidence, “I…I liked you. You were  a good guy, I thought you’d be a good influence on my kids, I thought having a stable living situation would improve your game. I thought all of these things, and that’s why I decided to get you to move in with me.” He took a deep breath. This was really happening. He could do this. “By the time you moved out, well, I wanted you to stay for entirely different reasons.”

            “Danny.” He couldn’t read Claude’s voice, and that terrified him. “Danny, are you saying-”

            “The guys always used to joke about us, remember?” Danny said, trying to make his voice stop shaking. “And I always wished it was true.” There was a frozen silence.

            “Say it.” Claude’s voice was just as shaky as Danny’s, a thought which simultaneously thrilled and terrified him. “Just fucking _say it_ , Danny.”

            “I love you,” Danny breathed. The words hung in the air between them as they just stared at each other, and then Claude let out a long breath.

            “I,” he said in a measured voice, the shakiness hidden beneath layers of false confidence, “am going to make you say that, every day, until it isn’t true anymore.” Danny’s heart leapt into his throat.

            “It’ll be a long time, then,” he croaked out, still frozen in place because he wasn’t _sure_ , wasn’t sure that what Claude had said had given him permission to touch, to hold, to kiss. Claude smiled at him, that crooked smile that had always made Danny’s knees go weak, and Danny nearly melted onto the floor.

            “Don’t worry. I’ll say it back.” And now Danny really was officially on the path to fainting from shock.

            “Can you?” he said unsteadily. “Say it now, I mean.” Claude stepped forward and pulled Danny into his arms, kissing his way along Danny’s jaw before whispering in his ear.

            “I love you too.” Danny pulled back enough to look Claude in the face, aware that he was beaming like an idiot and not caring. “Can we, you know, make out?” Claude asked, and Danny had to laugh, answering Claude’s question wordlessly.

            Because kissing Claude, well, _fuck_. It was like a hat trick and a Game 7 victory and possibly winning a fight all in one—Danny had never really won a fight so he didn’t know so much about the last part, but he could imagine. Claude was pressed up against him, his hands tight on Danny’s shoulders and Danny’s resting on Claude’s hips, and the feeling of Claude’s lips on Danny’s, of his tongue in Danny’s mouth, was enough to make Danny shiver from just how damn good it felt. Claude pulled back, and Danny almost whined at the loss of contact.

            “Are you okay? You’re, like, shaking.” Danny tugged him back down into another kiss as his response, and felt Claude smile against his mouth. They kissed for a long time, Danny enjoying the slow simplicity of it, before Claude pulled back again. He was flushed bright red and looked as dazed as Danny felt, but his grip on Danny’s shoulders was iron-tight. “Danny…” He trailed off, before trying again. “I want…” And then he tilted his hips forward, pressing his hardness against Danny’s, and Danny had to bite back a moan.

            “Whatever you want,” Danny said breathlessly, and Claude smiled at him, almost coyly, and then he started pushing Danny, backing him up until he was pressed against a nearby wall. “Claude?” Danny asked uncertainly, and the next thing he knew Claude was on his knees in front of him. Danny felt all the blood rush out of his head at once, and really did nearly faint. Claude steadied him with his hands on Danny’s thighs, looking up at him with a slightly uncertain, almost hopeful expression, biting his lower lip.

            “I mean—I don’t have to-”

            “I was just about to tell you that,” Danny said hoarsely. Claude smiled up at him, still lopsided, still enough to make Danny fucking _weak_.

            “You said whatever I wanted, right?” He started to unbutton Danny’s fly. “I want this.”

            “Are you…are you sure?” Danny managed to ask as Claude pulled his zipper down and then tugged his suit pants down over his hips, following with his boxers. Claude laughed, and Danny could feel the puff of hot air _on his cock_ , and his brain may have shorted out for a second or two there.

            “I’m offering to suck your cock and you’re asking me if I’m sure? How do you ever get laid?”

            “I don’t,” Danny said honestly, which made Claude laugh again.

            “Anyway, yeah, I’m sure.” There was a pause, during which Claude seemed to evaluate Danny’s dick, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Danny spent this period of time with his eyes squeezed shut, praying that he wouldn’t open them and find that Claude wasn’t there and it was all a dream.

            Carefully, Claude swirled his tongue around the head of Danny’s cock. The noise Danny made was in a pitch only dogs could hear, and somewhere beneath the intense arousal he was embarrassed, but then without any further preamble Claude wrapped his lips around Danny’s dick and sucked and there was absolutely no room in Danny’s head for anything but the overwhelming, howling pleasure Claude was so easily drawing out of his body. Later, when he was alone and had time to think about it, he would realize that it wasn’t a great blowjob. There were some literal close scrapes with Claude’s teeth, and he kept it pretty shallow after once going down too far and gagging, but none of those things kept Danny from coming with absolutely no warning but a sharp squeak. Claude drew back, swallowing—which, if anything could have gotten Danny going again after that supernova of an orgasm, that would have been it—and then he smiled up at Danny.

            “Get up here,” Danny said breathlessly, and Claude stood, leaning in close to kiss him. Danny flipped their positions so Claude was leaning against the wall, and then his hands, still fumbling and shaky, went for the placket of Claude’s dress pants, managing to get them undone and pushing them down past his hips. He cupped Claude’s dick with one hand through his boxer briefs, and Claude hissed between this teeth.

            “C’mon, Danny,” he said raggedly, pressing his erection into Danny’s palm. “Touch me, would you?” And since Danny couldn’t say no to Claude even under regular circumstances, he tugged Claude’s boxers down and wrapped his hand around Claude’s cock. Claude didn’t say anything, but his head fell back against the wall and when Danny looked at his face he had his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, like he was trying very hard not to make a lot of noise. Danny smiled and tightened his grip before flicking his thumb over the head, and that got him a strangled sound from the back of Claude’s throat that was somehow the hottest thing he’d ever heard. He leaned in and kissed Claude again, his hand still working Claude’s dick, and when Danny tried an experimental flick of his wrist Claude’s hips thrust forward as he moaned into Danny’s mouth. It didn’t take too long of this for Claude to draw back and gasp frantically into Danny’s ear.

            “Oh—God— _oh, my God-_ ” And then he was coming, all over Danny’s hand and Claude’s very expensive dress shirt and Danny’s very expensive dress shirt and the lack of a shit Danny gave about his dry-cleaning bill at that moment was astonishing.

            Watching Claude’s face as Danny made him come was worth everything he owned.

 

Part Three

Sean Couturier, Brayden Schenn, Danny Briere and Claude Giroux

 

           Brayden woke up before Sean the next morning, which wasn’t unusual on the rare occasion that they got to spend the night together. He lay there for a little while, enjoying the warmth of Sean pressed to his back and even the way Sean snored faintly, just loud enough to be audible. Finally, though, his bladder overruled the fact that cuddling with a fast-asleep Sean was really nice, and he carefully extracted himself from Sean’s grip and stood up. Sean shifted around in his sleep, rolled onto his stomach, and was out like a light again, and Brayden had to smile as he found boxers and tugged them on in case he ran into Danny on his way to the bathroom. That was something he’d rather avoid, since he was pretty sure Danny had no idea he and Sean were together, but it would be all the worse if it happened when he was buck-ass naked.

           He found the bathroom pretty easily and peed, and then headed back to Sean’s room, trying very hard to be quiet.

_Thump_.

          His foot had slid on something lying on the floor and he’d fallen on his ass. So much for quiet. Brayden felt around for whatever he’d slipped on, finding it and holding it up for examination.

          It was a shirt—a men’s dress shirt. Brayden looked at it more closely in the faint morning light of the hallway. It was salmon pink, all the buttons were ripped off the placket, and there was a stain on the front that looked suspiciously like-

          Brayden made a sound that could only be described as “Aack!” and threw the shirt as far away from him as he could, before scrambling to his feet and running back to Sean’s room, slamming the door behind him. That woke Sean up. He rolled over, looking up at Brayden with a sleepy, confused expression on his face.

          “Wha’s wrong?”

          “Claude is here,” Brayden said breathlessly. “Claude is here, and he—he and Danny—they—I’m pretty sure they-” Sean was looking at him blankly, and Brayden made a quick, explicit, graphic hand gesture to make his point.

           “Aack!” Sean said, shrinking back in his bed. “Are you sure?”

           “I found a pink dress shirt with the buttons ripped off and cum stains on it lying in the hallway.”

           “Yup, that’s Claude’s.” Sean sat up, looking at Brayden. “Jesus, they’re fucking _too_?”

           “Apparently. It’s not like there’s a restriction on the number of gay dudes you can have on a team, Sean. There’s no gay cap limit or whatever.” Sean snorted, before sobering abruptly.

           “How are we going to get you out of here?”

           “What do you mean? Can’t you just drive me back to Philly before they wake up?” Sean got out of bed—still naked, Brayden appreciated the view heartily—and then looked out the window and swore, colorfully.

            “Danny parked me in last night,” he informed Brayden, who groaned.

            “You’re fucking kidding me.”  Sean sat down on the bed, still naked.

            “I wish I was.” There was a long silence, before Sean looked over at Brayden. “I think we should deal with this like men.” Brayden looked at him for a long moment, before understanding and starting to laugh.

            “Yeah, Sean. Like men.”

            Brayden and Sean went downstairs, and Brayden sprawled out at Danny’s kitchen table and admired Sean’s ass while Sean rummaged around in the fridge.

            “Quit looking at my butt, Brayden,” Sean said, his head still in the fridge.

            “Why? No one else is here, and I like your butt.” Sean straightened up, a pack of bacon in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other, and smiled at Brayden.

            “I’ve noticed.” Brayden laughed as Sean took out a frying pan and started to make bacon.

            Claude and Danny were in the middle of a very passionate morning makeout session when Claude pulled back.

            “Do you smell that?” Danny was mouthing at Claude’s neck, paying no attention to him, and Claude pushed him away. “No, seriously, do you smell that?”

            “Smell what?” Danny asked, before he realized what Claude was talking about. He could definitely smell bacon.

            “Sean’s back,” he said, sitting up.

            “Yes, unless a ghost is haunting your house by cooking bacon,” Claude said, sitting up too. “Go investigate. I’ll be here when you get back.”

            “Maybe I’ll bring bacon,” Danny said with a grin as he got up and got dressed.

            He headed downstairs and into the kitchen, before stopping cold.

            Brayden Schenn was sitting at his kitchen table in nothing but boxers, feet kicked out, reading the paper and drinking some orange juice. Standing at the stove was Sean, in his own boxers and a T-shirt, frying bacon.

            “Hi, Danny!” Brayden chirped. Sean turned briefly from his cooking to greet Danny.

            “Good morning,” he said. “Want bacon?”

            “Um.” Danny had no idea what to say. “Um. Sure.”

            “Okay.” Sean added a couple extra strips to the pan. “Would Claude like bacon, too?” Danny nearly passed out.

            “Oh, sweet Jesus,” he breathed, and Brayden pulled the paper closer to his face to hide his massive, shit-eating grin. Danny, meanwhile, had other things to worry about. “How—how did you know?”  
            “You shouldn’t leave cum-stained pink dress shirts around if you don’t want other people to figure out you’re sleeping with Claude Giroux.” Danny had to admit that was a good point. Only Claude wore that shade of pink on any kind of a regular basis. “I mean, if it had been plaid I’d have gone with Talbo, but pink screams Claude. Also, you two are so gay, holy shit.” 

            “Oh.” Danny looked over at Brayden, because he just couldn’t handle the smug expression on Sean’s face for another second. “And why are you here?” Both Brayden and Sean just looked at Danny, who took the moment to evaluate both Sean and Brayden’s current states of undress.

            “You really have to ask that question, Danny?” Sean said, his voice filled with amusement. “I mean, usually Schenner at least puts pants on before he leaves the house. You know, most of the time. His mom raised him that well.”

            “Shut up,” Brayden said, rattling the paper in Sean’s general direction. “You’d be happy if I never put on pants.”

            “I’d be happier if you never put on anything.”

            “Guys, I’m right here!” Danny yelped. Sean and Brayden looked at him, then looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

            “Go get Claude,” Sean said as he plated the bacon. “He’s probably wondering where the hell you are.”

            Danny half-sprinted upstairs and into his bedroom. Claude, who was lying in Danny’s bed with his eyes closed, sat bolt upright when Danny came in.

            “What the fuck?”  
            “They know,” Danny gasped. “Sean—and Schenner—are downstairs—and they know—about us—and they’re fucking—and I am so not equipped to deal with this right now-”

            “They _know_?” Claude’s pitch almost shattered glass. “How do they know?”

            “They found your shirt in the hallway.” Claude groaned.

            “Simmer keeps telling me I should quit with the pastels.” Something else seemed to catch up to him. “And—wait. Wait one second. They’re _fucking_?” Danny nodded. “Like, right now?”

            “No! No. I mean, like, in general.” Claude looked astonished by this.

            “Our baby rookies are fucking?”

            “I think for some time now, too,” Danny said miserably.

            “Jesus.” Claude was lost for words for a minute, and Danny sighed.

            “Sean told me to come up and get you. He’s making bacon and eggs, I think.”

            Claude and Danny walked into the kitchen to find that Sean had finished with the bacon and was cracking eggs into a mug. Brayden was lighting into a plate of breakfast, his newspaper forgotten.

            “Hey, Claude,” Sean said with a grin over his shoulder. “How do you like your eggs?”

            “Um.” Claude stood there, scratching his head and blinking. “Um, scrambled?”

            “Really? Not over easy?” Brayden said pertly, and Danny nearly strangled him while Claude flushed bright red and Sean snickered. Brayden shoveled in another bite of egg, looking enormously pleased with himself.

            “You’re not that funny, Schenn,” Danny snapped, and Sean whistled, low.

            “Protecting your boyfriend? Sweet.”

            “He’s not my-” Danny started to say, just as Claude said, annoyed, “So what if he is?”

            “You guys need to get your stories straight,” Brayden said around a mouthful of bacon.

            “Give ‘em time,” Sean said. “It wasn’t until I stuck my dick in you that you admitted we were dating, remember?”

            “Guys, we’re right here!” Claude said in horror.

            “Also, you’re dating?” Danny said, looking from Sean to Brayden in confusion.

            “Yeah,” Brayden said, defiantly. “Since February. So?”

            “I’m just amazed you both managed to keep your fat mouths shut about this for so long,” Claude said as he pulled a chair out and sat down.

            “Neither of us are that fond of being called faggots, thanks,” Sean said as he finished with the scrambled eggs. Claude acknowledged this, taking a plate of food from Sean and falling to. Danny figured he might as well do the same. Besides, that bacon smelled delicious. Sean sat down between him and Brayden, and they all ate in silence for a while.

            “So,” Claude said after he’d eaten about half his food, “what…now?”

            “I think you and Danny need to have a talk. A special talk,” Sean said seriously.

            “Is that like special touching?” Brayden asked him.

            “It can overlap.” They were both giggling by then.

            “What’s so funny?”

            “They’re kids. It’s probably some immature sex joke,” Danny told Claude.

            “Yup,” Sean said cheerily, and Brayden snorted into his orange juice. Danny looked at Claude over the table and Claude smiled at him, making sure Danny knew just what their special talk would decide. Danny smiled back.

            “Sean,” Danny said, “how about after practice you and Schenner go to Claude’s, eh?”

            “Deal.” Sean and Brayden shared a grin. “I guess you guys will be coming back here, right?”

            “I don’t want to think about them coming, okay?” Brayden said, making a face, and Sean choked on some bacon.

            “He’s going to be unbearable for a while,” Claude said to Danny, resigned. “It’s best to just ignore it.”

            “Is this going to be a thing?” Brayden inquired later as he was getting into Sean’s dilapidated Jeep to go to practice.

            “Is what going to be a thing?” Sean asked, adjusting his rearview mirror and watching the car with Claude and Danny in it back out of the driveway.

            “Our roommates dating each other.” Sean watched in the rearview mirror as Claude leaned over to kiss Danny on the cheek for something he said. Danny nearly took out the mailbox as a result.

            “I think it is.” Brayden grinned.

            “Does this mean you’ll make me bacon in the mornings more often?”

            “Only if you put out. I do have standards.”

            And in the other car, Claude and Danny were driving along silently, Danny’s hands on the steering wheel and Claude’s hand on Danny’s knee. 


End file.
